


like any ginger brat suffering for his dog

by kivancalcite



Category: Adventures of Tintin (2011), Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Animal Abuse, Blood and Injury, Death Threats, Gen, I'll see, Manhandling, Pain, Physical Abuse, Self-Sacrifice, Stabbing, Swords, Threats of Violence, again written for whumptober 2020, also i could not help the music reference at the end i thought it was perfect, i continue to show how much tintin and snowy love each other which involves remarkable suffering, might tackle further chapters due to how it ends at a later point, not death but tintin will always suffer to save his dog, sakharine at one point says he could slit tintin's throat, the stabbing was accidental but inevitable, this was the first fic i ever wrote for the adventures of tintin, tintin is in a considerable amount of pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:35:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28641594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kivancalcite/pseuds/kivancalcite
Summary: Another version where this time Tintin and Snowy were caught trying to escape on board the ship, with Tintin's self sacrifical streak all the more prominent here when he's threatened by Sakharine. Doesn't end well, but rather him than Snowy.
Relationships: Milou | Snowy & Tintin
Kudos: 13





	like any ginger brat suffering for his dog

“He’s just a boy!”

“Yes, but he’s a boy that someone manages to cause enough problems for everyone. You know what the boss said.”

“Will you lot shut your damn mouths before I throw you overboard??”

Sakharine’s aggressive but polished tone of voice silenced them. The traitorous crew of the Karaboudjan stopped, knowing that they always seemed to be keen to argue even if it wasn’t worth it in the end.

The aristocractic man in red cleared his throat, looking expectantly at them. Something about the way his eyes looked in the low light of the lower decks of the ship made the crew uncomfortable, besides the way he stared at them, unbrokenly.

“Where is the ginger brat and his pesky little mutt anyway?”

There wasn’t so much of a scuffle as the young ginger quiffed boy was shoved through the doorway to the cabin, a hard look of defiance written on his features. The small white dog yapped angrily, snapping at one of the crew’s heels before being ceremoniously scooped up by the back of his neck with a yelp. He continued barking in their faces, baring his teeth and attempting to wriggle free to no avail.

“Could you please shut that damn dog up??” Sakharine demanded, exasperated.

One of the crew began to open their mouth, but Tintin, the young boy who was standing reciprocating the hard, unbroken stare of the older gent in front of him with rough hands digging fingers into his shoulders through his blue jumper, his own hands balled into fists, interrupted.

“ _His name is Snowy,_ ” Tintin spoke through gritted teeth, “and maybe if you stopped manhandling him like that, he wouldn’t be making so much noise.”

Sakharine’s mouth turned up in a faux affable smile at his comment, strangely endeared by the boy’s spirits. He knew he already seemed feisty enough, the very recent memory of how he had looked and spoke to him at Marlinspike Hall just before he departed. He had the gall to break in, not even questioning why he was doing that. It seemed natural to him, his unbroken stare and the glint in his clear eyes demonstrating that this probably wasn’t the first time he’d been getting into this sort of trouble.

Snowy had quietened down to a simple growl, still not failing to stop in his attempt to escape. He was dragged aside, fingers digging into his white fur to hold him back. Tintin’s stare looked colder, but Sakharine only just briefly laughed to himself, before he suddenly snapped and pointed his fingers at the ground as he glanced at the two men either side of him.

Tintin was pushed roughly to the ground by his shoulders, a brief, low cry escaping the back of his throat as his knees hit the floorboards, his expression barely budging except to look up at the man who had got him here in the first place.

There was a quick movement though, as Sakharine pulled the cane he’d been holding apart, Tintin cursing himself as he slightly flinched, breath hitching as the glint of a sharp blade appeared inches from his face. 

“What is a boy like you doing going through other people’s business?” he asked, condescension rife in Sakharine’s voice, “didn’t your parents ever tell you to not stick your nose in other people’s affairs?”

If the boy ever showed fear, it only seemed momentary, despite the position he was in. That cold stare was still fixed on him, contrary to the fact that he had a sword just only inches from his face. “What I do with my time is my business, Mr Sakharine,” he responded plainly, “but if you didn’t hear me the first time, it’s my job. And frankly, you’re not the first person who’s tried to intimidate me out of looking into their illicit business affairs, so you can stop trying.”

There was the same way he addressed him. The boy still had those manners, politeness still his forte even if he had that spiteful, biting attitude readily expected of a teenage boy who had the wrong habit of looking into other people’s lives.

“Aren’t you a bit young to be doing this?” Sakharine asked, ignoring the rebellious tone of voice in the boy’s words.

“My age has nothing to do with it,” Tintin replied, almost spitting the words out, “I’ve dealt with far worse people than you.”

Sakharine bristled. So he did get into all the wrong trouble for someone his age. It was enough of an insult to know that he wasn’t one of the worst he’d somehow managed to come across. He’d find out eventually, whatever it took to show this brat he wasn’t one to be underestimated.

He put the blade up against his throat, just below his jaw. Tintin hissed at the sensation, glancing momentarily at the glow of the blade in the low light, before back up at Sakharine, whose faux affable smile appeared more sickly sweet than before. 

“Oh, I bet,” Sakharine spoke, laughing mockingly, before looking down at him with an extra hint of contempt, “You’re just lucky that I need you alive instead of slicing that pretty throat of yours and ending your life right here, right now.”

Unsurprisingly, the boy remained unmoved by this, defiance clear across his face. Of course, the dog had now started barking up more of a storm, which was grating even more on his nerves.

Tintin didn’t turn around, but instead spoke aloud, calmly, not breaking his stare with Sakharine. “Snowy, Snowy, calm down please,” he said, swallowing, “it’s okay, don’t—”

Neither of them could precisely predict the speed at which Snowy leapt forward, teeth bared as he slipped out of the crewmates’ grasp and lunged towards Sakharine. Tintin cried out, panic now replacing that steely gaze from before as his trusty white dog went for the man in front of him despite the fact that he was holding a sword. His own self preservation instincts were never high, especially when his own dog was involved, and as Sakharine turned around, shouting and pointing the blade in Snowy’s direction, Tintin unfortunately made an impulsive decision to jump over to stop him from running full pelt into it.

Snowy skidded to a stop as the long blade went straight through his owner’s upper left side, his blue jumper darkening at the spread of his blood around it. Tintin registered it with a short, sharp cry of pain followed by low cracked groans and shaky breathing. The little white dog immediately leapt to his side, yapping in distress and licking his face as he was collapsed on his right side in pain, unable to scrabble at the blade that still stuck through him.

It was Sakharine’s and crewmates’ turn to be surprised at the speed at which the boy had leapt in front of a sword to protect his dog, an inseparable bond evidently plagued with the sacrifical notion if either one was threatened. It didn’t appear to be worth it to him, and his face twisted more in contempt at the image of the boy lying on the floor trying to hold himself steady and not show so much on his face that he’d just had a sword run through him at the defense of his dog.

Snowy was continuing to lick him worriedly, high pitched whines escaping his throat. Sakharine made a step forward and he looked up, his face changed to an angry row of sharp teeth and he leapt over his owner, growling viciously with intermittent barking. 

Of course, at this point, Sakharine was ever more frustrated with the damn dog, landing a rough kick to his face and he flew back slightly, yelping. The goddamn mutt tried to get back to his feet and continue barking, but he was once again scooped back up by one of the crewmates before he could do anything else.

“Leave him alone—!!” Tintin managed to cry out, his fingers digging into the floorboards, the dark stain on his jumper having become remarkably bigger, before he had his own share of a kick to knock him back down, Sakharine abruptly ripping the sword from his body as he heard a high pitched yell of pain escape from the boy’s throat.

“Shut up,” he curtly exclaimed, looking disdainfully down at the teenager crumpled on the floor, clutching at his bleeding wound. He wiped the blood off of his sword with one hand. He didn’t look up, but anger was clearly laced in his voice at the crewmate holding more tightly onto a struggling Snowy. “Get the damn dog out of my sight before I kill it. And all of you. Get out. Now.”

As they obediently disappeared out with the small white mutt trying to bite one of them, the door slamming shut behind them, that sickly grin appeared back on his face as he looked down at Tintin. He pressed his shoe down on the wound, the boy’s eyes widening and he let out a sharp, shaky cry of pain. He brought the blade back down near his throat below his jaw.

“Oh, you little ginger brat,” he spoke, voice patronising and mockingly soft, “ _look what you made me do._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> I really adore the bond between Tintin and Snowy and always love to explore it, usually through angst and hurt/comfort type fics. I feel it's really important to address how much changes and doesn't change when it comes to adversaries, and it shows a lot with just how much this ginger reporter and small white dog love each other and how they unfortunately this sort of thing can be exploited for horrible purposes.


End file.
